Letters From Cinna
by belleletrie
Summary: Katniss has lost a lot of her friends to death, and upon Peeta's suggestion, starts writing letters to them in Cinna's sketchpad.  There's something special about the pad, because it allows the deceased to write back.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own nothing!**

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_Katniss –_

_If you're reading this, which I suspect you are, I want you to know how very proud I am of you. You've either won the games for the second time, or the rebels were able to get you out of the arena. Whatever the case may be, you're alive, which is all I could ever hope for. As you know, I've been captured and I'm being held by Snow; I believe the day is coming when my interrogators realize I won't be cooperating with the Capitol, meaning my death is inevitable. My hope is that someone on our side will find this sketchbook, and make sure it reaches your hands. I want you to know that it was an absolute pleasure to know you; you're a beautiful young lady, with so much potential. I wish you nothing but the absolute best, in all of your endeavors. I believe with all of my heart that it's you that can finally end Snow's rule over Panem. I want you to remember to keep your chin up, no matter how much you feel like giving up. I wish I could be there to see the difference you can bring into our world, but I can only imagine as I'm leaving it. I know you're going to do good things, Girl on Fire. And don't forget, I will always be betting on you._

_Love, Cinna_

Tears streamed from my eyes as I reread the letter, running my fingers down the yellowing page. This was it, the last thing Cinna had ever written. How appropriate that it should be in his sketchpad – the one possession he owned that I knew meant the world to him. It had been this one sheet of paper that had helped me to keep going, while the rebels made their way to the Capitol to dethrone Snow. I still can't heal the hole in my heart caused by poor Cinna's death. In a way, it was my fault – he was maimed and tortured because Snow and the Capitol knew how much he meant to me. They sought out anyone who had any significance in my life, and tried to break me by using them. Here I am now, completely broken. Not only did I lose Cinna, I lost my sister, Prim. Finnick was killed, before he even got to meet his son. My mother, Gale, and Haymitch are as good as gone – the first two no longer live in District 12, the latter too drunk to be considered company.

Peeta still isn't the same as before the Capitol got him, yet he's the sanest one here. It's him who's been comforting me, even though it should be the other way around. Both my doctor and Peeta suggested that I write letters to those who were taken from me, as a sort of therapy. They said that it could help me to feel better, to tie up the loose ends. But what they don't realize is I don't feel anymore. And there's no such thing as better.

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There's chapter one! :) It didn't take me too long to write this, and I've already got some ideas for the next chapter. It'll be quite a bit longer, and a little more upbeat, hopefully. As for now, what do you think? Take a second and review, please!


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Still not owning anything!**

I was beginning to grow annoyed as I scratched out yet another sentence in my new makeshift diary. This was impossible; I couldn't even write a stupid letter to one of my best friends. It's official, I'm pathetic. _Just one more try, _I think. _If I don't get it this time, then writing isn't for me. Along with painting, playing the flute, fashion design… I'll just add it to my list._

**Cinna –**

**I'm so, so, so sorry for what happened to you. I feel personally responsible for your death and it's a thought that haunts me every night. All I see in my mind is you screaming out in pain, refusing to divulge the rebels' information. It's so unfair how early you had to go. You had such a wonderful life ahead of you. I love you Cinna, you were a really good friend to me. I just wish there was some way I could repay you for your sacrifice.**

By this time the waterworks had started again. I nearly jumped out of my skin as an arm snaked its way around my shoulders. I was so deep into thought that somehow I'd missed Peeta coming in. He brought his index finger to the crease of my eye, stopping the drop of saltwater before it could fall. A tentative smile played at his lips. "Feel any better?"

I just shook my head. "It isn't the same, of course. But I guess I feel like I got a little more closure."

Peeta pulled me into his warm body, cradling me in his arms like a child. He brought his lips to the crown of my head, kissing it delicately. "Closure is good, Katniss. I know it isn't the same as talking to him, but this is the best we can do." He loosened my fingers from the notepad; I hadn't realized how hard I was gripping it. My knuckles were white from clutching it so tightly. "I don't think Cinna'd appreciate you hurting yourself over this," he said quietly, setting the book next to him on the floor and standing up. "I'm going to head to town, Kat. They're trying to pick out the land for the new bakery, and I said I'd be there." I nodded as he slipped out of the room.

Leaning against the wall, I stared at the leather pad sitting a few feet away from me. It looked cold and lonely without the hands of its master to warm it. To fill it with impossibly beautiful ideas to mask its plainness. _A lot like me, _I thought. Without Cinna around, I slowly became the dull young girl I was before the Hunger Games. No fancy outfits, no makeup. I rarely even wash my hair anymore. The truth of the matter is I just don't care.

I couldn't deal with it anymore. Thinking like this would be the death of me. I made myself stand, grabbed the book, and ran out the front door. There were too many memories associated with it, and I couldn't have it in my sight anymore. But what to do with it? I couldn't make myself destroy it, but I could hardly keep it around, having to look at it every day. I was walking without any idea of what to do, when I saw the roped off area in the town square dedicated to those whose lives were lost in District 12's destruction. The survivors thought it would be fitting if we roped off one decimated area, leaving all the ash and rubble from the bombs. It seemed like a suitable place to lay the sketchpad to rest. I kneeled down, holding the book in my left hand, digging a small hole with my right.

When I was nearly done with my hole, there was a sudden, shooting pain in my left palm. I screeched and dropped the book, staring in amazement at the red welt forming on my hand. It felt as if it had caught fire, burning me in the process. The wind began to pick up and the pages turned rapidly from the bed of ash. Then, as abruptly as it started, everything was still. The throbbing in my hand was gone, the pages no longer turned, the wind stopped whistling, and the book lie still, open to a blank page. Or what was once a blank page. Words began to form, and my heart stopped as I read what had materialized.

_I would appreciate if you wouldn't bury my sketchpad, Katniss._

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There's chapter two. I lied when I said it would be happier, but things will get more exciting for sure in the third installment. Someone mentioned in a review they'd like for some of the other Hunger Game tributes to make appearances; I was planning on incorporating some characters other than Cinna. He's my favorite though, so he had to come first, ha. Leave me a review with which deceased character you'd like me to include? As always, thanks for reading!_

Updates every Tuesday, I'm thinking. I won't be around tomorrow, so posting this today.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I wish I was Suzanne Collins, but I'm not. So I own nothing.**

"Cinna?" I whispered. "Is that you?" I felt rather foolish, sitting on the damp grass, talking to a book. There was no way that this could be real. I must be asleep. Or insane.

_**Yes.**_ My heart stopped, my breathing shallow. _**Don't be alarmed, I'll do my best to explain everything, Katniss.**_

"Don't be alarmed? How can you ask me to not be alarmed? How-" I couldn't even form words. Everything was so surreal. It must be a dream. It has to be. I'll just wake up, and laugh this whole thing off. Though it would cease the questioning of my sanity, a part of me desperately hoped I was awake.

_**I know it's a lot for you to take in, I understand.**_The words began to form faster and I found myself struggling to keep up with them as they appeared. _**I'm not entirely sure why I'm able to speak to you like this myself, but I'm glad that it's possible. Tell me about what happened at The Capitol. It was overpowered, I assume?**_

My jaw nearly dropped. "Cinna, absolutely not. You can't just… just **die**, start talking to me through a book, and then ask ME the questions! I think it's my turn!"

I could almost imagine the amused smile playing at his lips when I read his response.

_**And that would be why we call you the Girl on Fire. I don't know much more than you do, Katniss. I know I was taken prisoner, and eventually killed. Everything was blank. Then I opened my eyes as if I was waking from a dream, and I was in this room. It's bright white, but very empty aside from myself and the pad of paper. It's not the same as my sketchpad, but I opened it out of curiosity. When I did, I nearly dropped it, I was so surprised. It has all of my designs in it, along with the letters you've been writing. I didn't even think about how strange seeing either of those was, however. I was more concerned with the fact I could see you.**_

My eyes widened. "You could see ME?" Subconsciously I glanced over my right shoulder, though I knew it wasn't as if he'd just be sitting on a bench smiling at me.

_**And I still can. You know, you should take a little more pride in your appearance, Katniss. People do still look up to you.**_

I grimaced, running my hand through my hair. So what if it was a little on the greasy side?

_**It's no matter, you can wash later. As for now, I have a favor I need to ask you. Did I ever tell you about myself?**_

I tried to remember, coming up with nothing. Cinna was the type of person who focused more on others' feelings, and I realized I knew very little about him. The only things that came to mind were the obvious; he'd worked for the Capitol, as a designer. "No, not much," I replied quietly.

_**Well, originally I was from District 9. The hunting district; you should be able to appreciate that one. My father left when I was very young, leaving my mother to tend to my younger brother, Sage, and myself. It was up to Sage and I to provide for the family, as our mother wasn't much of a huntress. Sage excelled, while I never seemed able to bring myself to full on hunt. On the rare occasions where I'd trap an animal, I usually ended up letting it go, unable to kill it. My mother constantly reminded me that if it were up to me, we'd all be dead, and that I should be grateful my brother wasn't as incompetent as myself. It used to get to me, and I began to look for an outlet for my pent-up anger.**_

"Fashion design," I found myself saying. I never would have thought that Cinna came from District 9. I guess I sort of stereotyped him as a Capitol pet, even though he didn't act the part. It would have made more sense if he'd have come from District 1.

_**Exactly. Fashion was one of the few things I felt at home doing. It just seemed natural to me, like speaking. I began to design some very interesting pieces, rather angsty, usually based around dark colors or flames. I'd bite my tongue every day as my mother berated me, and later let the words that I was too afraid to say spill out into my clothing. Everything was well for a while, until my mother went into my room one day when I was at school. She found the designs, and I don't think I've ever seen anyone fly off the handle as much as my mother did that day. She threw things at me, she cursed, she told me I'd never get anywhere. I'd never amount to anything. I would have better served our family if I just died, right then and there. Then at least they'd receive compensation for their loss, and it would be one less mouth to feed. It was delayed, but I suppose now she's gotten her wish.**_

To a normal person, Cinna's story would have evoked pity. They would have told him how sorry they were that he had to go through something as awful as that. Told him that he was worth so much more than his mother told him he would be. My response? Not quite so eloquent. "That bitch."

_**Extinguish the flames, Katniss. It's okay. That was the last day I saw my mother. I left at fifteen years of age, and I haven't spoken to her since. I looked Sage up one day, out of curiosity and found that he'd been killed in a hunting accident. It's just our mother left now. Thalia, her name is. And our father, but god knows where he's at. Anyways, I mentioned earlier how I had a favor to ask of you. It's a lot, I know, and I won't be upset at all if you decide it's too much to handle. But can you go to her? Can you take my sketchpad, show her my designs, and let her see how beautiful you are one on one? I'd really like for her to see that despite what she said, I was able to become something.**_

"Of course, Cinna. I'll do anything you ask me to. I'll just need a general idea of where she lives in 9." I waited patiently as he told me, excited to show Thalia just how wrong she was. Cinna was one of the most kind-hearted people I'd ever known, and I gained even more respect for him, knowing what he'd had to put up with during his childhood. If I could help it, she was going to regret ever saying such hurtful things to him.

_**Oh, and Katniss?**_

"Yes, Cinna?"

_**Wash your hair first, please.**_

There's chapter three! So, funny story. I completely forgot I had a story going, and wanted to update on Tuesdays. So it's 5:04 PM on Tuesday, and I just now finished. Sorry it's rushed, but I didn't want to miss my first scheduled update. I wasn't able to work anyone else in yet, and I'm still trying to figure out how to do that smoothly, so other characters will come in the next chapter or two. As always, thank you so much for reading! Leave me a review?


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